There is art
on walls,
winding walls,
in rooms
on show
with light,
luscious light,
and climate controls
while she’s sidelined
to the shadows
to weep
for the darkness
that devours her
skin, stuck like tar
and trapped in stone
once tempered
by an artists touch
now off and absent,
now long grown
cold, not being of stone
but breaking bone,
while she weeps
neath polished position
on partitioned pedestal
and waits
in the shadow
of his name
long forgotten from rooms
alight with art
on walls,
the art
of other men,
maybe more remembered
like lands,
once considered,
now grown careless
in their unions
next to nations
who have not
nurtured the need
to be noticed
for notions
long ago
set in stone.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio Version available on Soundcloud:
https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/when-the-empress-is-removed